The creation of chaos unbridled
by lumpyspace5566
Summary: This will be about only the Joker and how she, yes she became the psychotic criminal mastermind that we all know and love.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N- This will be short if not sweet and the Joker will be the only character from Batman in this. Anyway I hope you all like it and I shall update as much as I can.**

 **Profanity warning, just by the way!**

 **Disclaimer- DC owns the Joker**

"The morning is mundane" I thought incoherently. Music crashed in my head, a soundtrack to the grey world that flashed by the bus window again and again and again. I felt a brief flash of hatred for the mundane people that surrounded me as their inert chatter penetrated my headphones and crept into my head. It passed and I considered the day to come." What shit would I take today? And from whom?" What did it matter really, I had completed all the homework due and it was Wednesday, halfway through the week.

I stopped thinking and resumed my diligent observation of the world outside. The raindrops were making little tracks like snails down the window pane I noted and the road to our right was flooded.

"I'll change you like a remix, then I'll raise you like a phoenix" the song told me and I felt a smile twitch at the corner of my mouth. Hey it wasn't so bad was it really?

The coach rumbled on and the boy behind me drew a smiley face in the condensation on the window as he dared his friend to eat the gum stuck to the underside of the seat.

My hand dipped into my blazer to withdraw my timetable, like I needed to check it, I knew it off by heart. Just habit I guess, my whole life it habit. That's not a complaint it just is.

The song changed, it was The Arctic Monkeys, and again I felt a little hope that the day wouldn't be so bad.

The boy behind me squealed in disgust as presumably the dare had been fulfilled. I started to put my timetable back into my pocket but I never made it. The cycle of habit was broken that very second as something large and metal smashed into my face rendering the world foggy and fragmented. I gasped. My hand automatically reached to protect my head and the world sharpened into perfect colour focus as I was hit with an exquisite blinding agony that tore through all thoughts and made time itself slow. My whole surroundings were pitching and tilting. I could see the sky then the ground then the sky. Something shattered and then I was falling. Falling? Shit, my brain jammed at this thought before with a resonating thud everything ceased and fell utterly silent. There was a soft patter of something dripping and I closed my eyes desperately trying to reassess what the fuck was going on. The quiet remained for an infeasible amount of time. I could see my phone lying in the dirt just out of reach, its screen was cracked but the music played on: "Do the Macarena in the devils lair, but just don't sit down 'cause I've moved your chair."" I started to giggle. A horrified voice in my head told me this was so far from a laughing matter to laugh was utterly mad but never the less my chuckle swelled to an outright "Ha Ha Ha" that came out all chocked and wet like water gurgling down a drain. Then the screams started all along the bus like a Mexican wave of misery.

I roused myself to move, to assess the damage. The bus it should be said now had crashed and rolled down an embankment. It was on its side now and I was lying in the broken window. The grass was all wet on my knees and cut hands. I forced myself upright acknowledging aching arms and throbbing head. But I was alive and okay, mostly okay. I was now stood in front of the boy who had drawn the face on the window. I gave a weak smile by way of comfort as he had split head and was clutching a twisted arm. He stared at me his expression turning from pain to horror his eyes widening and mouth dropping open a fraction as he stumbled frantically backwards, tripping on a seat but continuing to push himself away from me with his feet.

I looked up to see my reflection in the remaining intact window above me. One side of my face showed the frightened eyes of a young girl whose lips were pressed together out of fear and pain. The other side of her face was monstrous. A mouth torn upwards into a gaping, leering smile smudged with a lipstick of scarlet blood that poured uninhibited down her face staining her collar black. A bruise was blossoming round her temple filling in her eye socket like purple clown makeup gone wrong. It was utterly horrific and so out of place, again I started to laugh …so did the thing in the window. It was the last image I saw before I blacked out theatrically not to wake until the end of the week.


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so I said the Joker would be the only DC character...I lied...Sorry.**

 **DC Comics own everything and I am truly sorry for the long gaps between updates**

I woke up and became aware of my surroundings but did not yet open my eyes. I had that weird feeling, that blissful moment when you don't quite know where you are in your own timeline, all you know is you are warm and cosy and deliciously sleepy. It was about the last time I felt that content, not ever, but at least until I was a much changed person. I savoured the feeling, dozing, as if my subconscious was trying to protect me inside my drug induced dream world for just a little longer.

Then I started to remember, in a flood I could not stem; the crash, the glass, the blood. I screwed up my face and began to stir as I went to open my eyes. I became aware of several things at once, the alarmingly unfamiliar landscape of my face, my inability to open my right eye, the blindingly white light that assaulted the eye I could open and the screeching pain the waltzed up and down my whole body, dancing particularly agonizingly across my cheek. I made a desperately small and pitiful noise with what little will I could muster, the response is immediate and a gaggle of tender nurses' flock to my side

"You've been in a terrible accident my dear" – _I'm not your dear_ I thought _and nor am I twelve years old just tell me straight what's going on_

"It's all going to be alright," – _oh gee thanks that's really helpful, please, just help me open my eye and stop pandering._

"You're going to be okay" – _Oh shit, that's bad, that's what they tell people when they are dying or at the very least are badly maimed_ .I tried to speak, but everything felt swollen and tender and my throat seemed to have undergone some sort of terrifying Alice in Wonderland shrinking act. They saw my feeble attempts and pushed me back into the pillows. I was overcome with panic. I was utterly helpless to resist them and it made me want to claw and kick and scream. It made me want to vow never to be so helpless again. It made me want to fight.

"You were on that bus. Your face is busted up real bad" – well, wasn't that the most honest thing I had heard all day, not exactly reassuring but still refreshingly honest. I leaned forward and tried to focus on the face of the person who had spoken. After a few seconds of straining I caught the blurry outline of the boy in the adjacent bed at whom a large matriarchal looking nurse was glaring and shushing. The effort was too much and I let my eyes roll back to the ceiling, then roll back again, to the lawlessness of my own confused mind.

When I awoke next, the world, like the pain was just a little harsher. My parents were peering down at me with simpering smiles plastered on their perfect faces. _– Nice of them to turn up,_ I thought savagely before mentally chiding myself. I tried to return their synthetic comfort with some kind of facial expression but I was met with a spasm of pain and the coppery taste of blood so I abandoned the trial movement. The pair of them immediately moved to coo over me but it was hard to mistake the flash of disgust on my mother face as presumably she took in my marred visage. I took a deep breath to ask the stream of questions that were swirling in my head but they pre-empted me.

"The bus, on the way to the collage, it, well it lost control and it cr-" My mother here broke into sniffles and sobs and my Father put him arm round her and continued.

"Nobody knows why, because the driver, well he didn't make, but your coach came off the motorway and it rolled down the embankment. Now everyone is pretty much okay, other than the driver, God rest his soul-"

 _God clearly didn't think very much of mine_ -My brain spat. I shushed it and zoned back in

"The thing is," My Father was saying "you've had quite a rough time of it and the glass..." He tailed off masking his discomfort with a façade of pity "It cut your face a little bit." He winced as he, like my mother. took in my unbandage head.

I was worrying now, racing through the possibilities, how bad was it really? A novel idea came to me through the haze of medication. I lifted a relatively undamaged hand from my side and trailing wires carefully made it to my swollen face. I came to the smooth if puffy skin of my left cheek. My mother was protesting now. Then I progressed across my lips. Then the corner of my mouth then to an agonising mass of flesh, prickly with a multitude of stitches and tacky with semi dried blood. It was unrecognisable under my finger tips and against my will I let out a little gasp and silent tears began to leak from my left eye. The fact I couldn't even cry properly made it all the worse and my shoulders shook with suppressed sobs. - _Sod it_ one side of my brain whispered but all the same my heart ached for the person I used to be.

My parents left shortly after this with excuses of errands to run and people to meet. I didn't blame them. I had always been a little bit of a disappointment to them and this was the icing on the cake, I had never been pretty but now I was hideous. I guess it should be said now that they were rich and well to do and wanted their little princess to follow along in their foot prints. I did okay but my lack of social ambition niggled them and now, well, just think of the gossip I had caused.

I was awake now and recovering strength after days of asleep, I shifted my gaze and my eyes locked with the boy in the adjacent bed, he had pretty brown eyes that blinked in a sea of mottled purple bruising.

"How yah feelin?'" he asked good naturedly

"Ugly" I responded knowing he could only see my right hand side, my ruined side.

"Mmm same here" he replied with a shrug and a wince.

I asked him what had happened to him knowing it was impolite but feeling too sorry for myself to particularly care, I mean he had seen my at my absolute worst so we were beyond formalities.

"Oh, I ummmm" he began breaking eye contact and squirming "I got beat up." He paused before saying "I mean I'm just such a pacifist it would be against my teachings to even try and defend myself" he said sarcastically rolling his eyes. Despite myself I laughed. His humour was uplifting and pleased by his efforts he flashed me a smile through his double black eyes and reached and arm across the gap between us to shake hands.

"I'm Joanne but most people just call me Joe" I volunteered closing the gap between our outstretched fingers. They touched, just about.

"Harley" he said "Harley Quinn"


End file.
